


Now or Never

by pippen2112



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Casual Sex, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, Is it still dry humping if you're in the shower?, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Project Freelancer, Reverse Size Kink, RvB Rare Pair Week, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: After a truncated training session, Maine finds York in the showers.





	Now or Never

It’s official: York hates Project Freelancer. Not for any of the obvious reasons. Sure he’s sweaty, and his back is sore from where Maine slammed him onto the training room floor, and his rank on the leader board is probably pretty perilous after that last round. Nah, all that shit is par for the course where super secret military projects are concerned. He could run into those kinds of issues anywhere.

But as he strips off his armor and under-suit and is greeted by junior winking up at him, all red and swollen and needy, York has to sigh and thump his forehead against his locker.

 _I swear I wasn’t a masochist before signing on to the MOI,_ he tells himself as he heads to his favorite shower stall and starts up the water. If he had been, he never would have made it as high up the leader board, right? But now it feels like he can’t get through a single sparring session without popping a boner. Most of the time, he can muscle through and ignore it. After all, he’s always had a thing for women who can drop him to his knees with a smirk and a few well placed hits—he considers it a miracle if he can make it through a fight with Lina _without_ making a mess of his under-suit. But now it seems like anyone can do it. For fuck’s sake, he felt a little flutter downstairs the last time he and Florida went toe to toe (and he could’ve sworn Florida was looking at him funny afterward— _like he’d known or somethin’_ ).

And just the memory of it makes his dick throb, reminding him that he’s not pulling his weight in taking care of this fresh batch of arousal. Groaning, York hangs his towel on the rack outside the shower, steps under the spray, and grabs his dick before he’s even adjusted to the heat. With a heavy sigh, he starts stroking.

So yeah, York hates the Project, the Director, the whole damn ship for turning him into some kind of freak who gets off when his friends start beating him up, who relishes the aches and twinges of pain as he works himself toward the edge.

He’s just happy Maine didn’t notice.

#

“ _You ready to dance with Number Two, big guy?”_

“ _Oof, you’ve got some reach on you, Maine. But you’ve gotta get me to come to you, y’know?”_

“ _C’mon, Maine. Think you’ve got me corned? It’s now or never.”_

Maine shakes his head, focusing on beating his way through another reinforced punching bag. It’s not as good as sparring with another person, someone who can anticipate his hits and challenge him to do better, but it will make do. Especially since York ducked out of training early before Maine could really show him why riling Maine up was a bad idea.

Strange. Normally, York will go at least three bouts with a partner before calling it a day. He spends his time in the training room wisely, practicing with any and every partner available, picking up new techniques and learning how best to take down his opponents, even offering pointers when he’s not bragging over his victories. But today after only one pin York fled, claiming he had a headache. Why, Maine can’t say.

Instead, he puts the peculiar behavior out of mind and focuses on the bag. By the time he breaks a sweat, the bag is starting to look worn through. He wants to keep going, to punch until his arms go numb and his knuckles bleed and the strange tightness in his chest finally uncoils, but they’re running low on bags already, and supply stops are infrequent at best. Grimacing, he turns toward the locker room, ready to call it a day.

The locker room is steamy when he enters, the shower in one of the far stalls still running. Maine pays it no mind; he’s been with Alpha squad long enough that whoever is in there won’t be too shocked if they wander out to find him changing. In some of his previous assignments, his squad mates have stared when his under-suit comes off. More specifically, they’ve stared at his groin. The first few times he can look past it—he’s every bit of seven feet tall, broad shouldered, and proportional all the way down—but at a certain point, they should’ve gotten used to it. At least the other Freelancers are a touch more professional.

As he starts to peel off his greaves, though, a low moan echoes through the room. Maine goes still, his head perking up toward the noise. Who would be down here at this hour? Of Alpha squad, he knows the twins and Carolina are welcoming their newest recruits, Wyoming and Florida are out on missions, and York should be long done in here. _So who is--_ Maine shakes his head, cutting short that train of thought. Doesn’t matter. He’s just here to clean up after training.

He finishes undressing and throws his under-suit in the sterilization cycle before making a beeline for the showers. But midway into a stall, he hears it again, a whimper this time, bitten back but still loud as it reverberates off the metal and tile. Maine frowns as his cock twitches between his legs. He knows the polite thing would be to ignore the noises and continue about his day, or even leave and come back after whoever is finished with their business. But the more he thinks about it, the more those noises sound pained. Like one of his teammates could be injured and in need of help. Grimacing down at his feet, Maine pads toward the occupied stall, the stilted moans growing louder the closer he gets. Just a glance to make sure his teammate isn’t in peril.

He peers over the shower curtain and gets an eyeful of golden, sun-bronzed skin marred by the occasional scar, a leanly muscled back leading down to narrow hips and a pert ass. Maine’s throat constricts as another soft groan echoes through the showers. York. York is the one monopolizing the hot water as he leans forward against the shower cubicle, one arm pillowing his head while the other pumps between his legs. Strange, York’s shorter out of armor than he expected, his build narrower, but then again, everyone on Alpha squad is taller than York. Even Carolina and South.

Quietly as he can, Maine backs away. No, York is definitely not injured. Definitely not in peril. And maybe that explains why York bowed out of training so early. But if he’s been in here since then, trying to take care of his need with little success… Maine doesn’t know what to make of that thought, but a flare of want pulses low in his gut. After all, it’s been a while since he last had a partner, and he aches to feel another person’s warmth.

Before he can stop himself, he steps forward and knocks on the wall beside York’s cubicle. All at once, the breathy little noises stop. “Sorry ‘bout that,” York calls, his voice rough from misuse. “I’ll wrap it up.”

 _Now or never._ Maine clears his throat and asks, “Want some help?”

York goes quiet again, only the sound of the shower spray left to drown out the silence. He hears movement, and then York peeks around the shower curtain. York startles when all he finds at eye-level is chest, and his eyes rake up to Maine’s, his cheeks flushed and his wet hair stuck flat to his scalp. Maine would smile, but he’s been told it makes him look predatory instead of just menacing, so he keeps his face blank, waiting for York to answer.

“Fuck.” York exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he struggles for words. “Umm, I don’t… I mean, I haven’t… I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not—”

Maine cuts him off with a huffed laugh. “That from training?” he asks, nodding down toward York’s groin even though it’s obscured by the shower curtain.

York blushes even as a smirk. “I wouldn’t be too proud of that one. Junior gets hard if the wind blows on him just right. Hyperactive little bastard.”

Maine rolls his eyes. “Still my fault.”

York’s mouth tips open, but he doesn’t say anything as he pushes back his hair once again. He cocks his head to the side. “I mean, if you’re offering, I’m not gonna st— _AHH!_ ”

Before York even finishes his sentence, Maine drops his towel and pushes his way into the stall. The warm water on his skin makes him sigh, but he doesn’t linger. His hands find York’s hips and guide him backward until his back hits the wall, his penis pulsing and his eyes going wide. Maine can’t help a small grin. It’s rare for York to shut up willingly. He’ll have to remember this for future reference.

As he looks York up and down, York manages to find his voice. “Just don’t stick anything up my ass. Please.”

Maine hums an affirmation, and without another word, he drops to his knees and pulls York’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” York chants above him as Maine laves the underside with his tongue. It’s a nice penis, red and clean and twitching at the slightest touch. Maine lets his eyes fall closed from the weight of it in his mouth. He keeps York’s hips pinned to the wall as he sucks him deep, all the way down until his nose presses into York’s neatly trimmed curls, and a low groan slips out of him. All the way to the root, and York’s dick is just tickling the back of his throat. His blood rushes south, his own cock swelling against his thigh. He’ll never admit it out loud, but York’s dick might just be perfect.

He bobs his head, sucking firmly as he pulls York toward the brink. Once or twice, he feels York’s hips start to buck, but he holds him in place, and York lets out a long moan. “Fuck… I’m… I’m gon—”

Humming, Maine digs his nails into York’s hips to hold him steady. York keens, thrusting forward as far as he can as he comes. Maine savors the burst of cum across his tongue, his own cock throbbing. He looks up at York, and the slack-jawed, blissed-out look on his face is too much. He’s on his feet before he can stop himself.

#

It’s not just the heat of the shower; York swears he whites out for a few seconds as Maine, fuckin’ _Maine_ , sucks him through his orgasm, and when he comes to, he pinned to the wall, his legs wrapped around Maine’s waist as Maine ruts against him. Maine’s face is buried in the crook of his neck, licking and biting and snarling as he takes everything York has to give him and then some. It’s too soon after his orgasm. York hisses at the bright friction, squirming for an inch of leniency and finding none. Maine is ruthless in his pursuit of his own pleasure, and York’s mouth goes dry as soon as he realizes. But instead of trying to break away, his toes curl, and his legs tighten around Maine’s hips, and he holds on for dear life.

He whimpers at each thrust, imagining all that girth and power pushing into him, and his gut clenches so hard it leaves him winded. It’s too much, but he’s hard again and dripping onto his stomach, adding slick to Maine’s path.

“C’mon,” he groans as he pulls Maine closes. “Harder. Give it to me.”

A growl rumbles through Maine’s chest, but he hikes York higher against the wall and puts his back into it. Each thrust knocks York’s head back against the wall, but he holds tight, moaning. It shouldn’t be possible—he hasn’t been able to come twice in an hour since he was a teenager—but, _fuck,_ is he willing to try.

All too quickly, Maine’s hips stutter against him, and Maine sucks a mark onto his shoulder, straining for silence. A moment later, something warm and slick splatters on his chest all the way up to his chin, but York doesn’t have the piece of mind to comment; he can only arch his back and beg for more. He feels Maine’s laughter against his shoulder before one of those enormous hands wraps around him and strokes him until he sees white again and comes to on the floor of the shower stall, the tepid water ringing all the evidence away.

York drops his head back against the tile until his brain stops spinning.

_Fuckin’ Freelancer._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and con-crit welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


End file.
